Collapse
by Mustsleep
Summary: Sequel to Pity. 5 years later. They've created a fake reality built on lies. Little do they know that the truth shall emerge, forcing everything they have to collapse. Dark. ItaSaku
1. Ch 1: What ifs

_**Collapse**_

Synopsis_: Pity-verse (5+ years later). They've created a fake reality. And that fake reality is on the edge of collapsing. _

I said Pity would never have a sequel.

So *cough* this is an alternate continuing of the story.

Those of you who enjoyed making up another ending to Pity; don't read this.

**For those of you who haven't read Pity, I would suggest that you read it, if only for some backstory of how they got into this situation. **Be warned, you might be utterly confused in parts if not.

:/ if it sucks too much I'll take it down. I actually have issues reading particular stories like the one you (may or may not) be about to read.

This story has a more mature tone, same as in Pity if not a tad bit darker.

Because this is a *cough* alternate continuing of the story the time placement is about five to eight+ years after Pity.

I hope you enjoy. (btw reviews are appreciated)

_Z.Z~~~_

_~0000~_

**Chapter 1: What ifs**

She is a traitor.

The reality of her actions is a weight and that weight presses so heavily in her chest that she can no longer look at her own reflection. If she does, she sees where once upon a time a gleaming, thin sheet of metal—that represented everything she ever stood for—rested above her brow.

She remembers every lesson of loyalty from her academy years, every speech from her blond-haired friend and every lecture from her white-haired sensei. Sometimes she wonders how someone like her could go astray. She'd been surrounded by loved ones and had kept to the narrow road, never strayed or experimented from the teaching like others in the academy. She'd sat through every lesson, eager to be a true shinobi. Her second teacher had been a wanderer but the woman had kept to her beliefs no matter what happened.

She remembers once having that passion; the determination to set right the wrong, to provide justice to the innocent. But it was gone. It had disappeared when her world became a swirl of lighting and demon chakra; when she met a half-dead, blind man on the side of the road. She just hadn't felt it go. But it had slipped through her fingers and had been replaced with something so dark it shook her very core.

Every belief, every stature, every morality has now been swept away from her. All sense of condemning and justice has left her with just one notion. She is a traitor.

She knows the only way her life is going to end is on the end of a rope. She knows that the time will come when she will be forced to pay for her crimes. She fears it. She dreads it. But she acknowledges the fact that she deserves it and will never escape, though she knows she will try.

When the betraying thoughts had begun, she'd thought it only as medical curiosity.

Could she heal the eyes of a man that was blind?

Any man, not just him…

That's what she had told herself over and over again; until it was ingrained in her skull.

But the truth, it never left. It was still there at the forefront of her mind. She refused to see it. That was when her lines began to blur.

It had only gotten worse. Every night symbols of medicine ran in her head. Her hands could twist and bend to the desired seals with ease. She knew all her years of formulas and late night readings were ready. All she has left to do is put her plan into action.

She can do it. She can bring back the power he lost. The sense he is missing.

Then again, she can still kill him. Move her hand around his throat and squeeze with all of her might and chakra; because she knows if she continues she will never be able to turn back. The thought of hurting him rips her apart. She promised herself she would never love him, she would kill him if she did. But now…her mind freezes and she hugs herself; things never turn out the way they're supposed to.

In a selfish way, she wants to prove herself. To prove she is still the best medic-nin. But if she were really to examine her desire, she would know she wants him to see her. To see who she really is. To see how much she has lied to both him and herself. To see the life they've had together. A peaceful world built on top of a fake reality which is slowly falling apart.

She used to tell herself, if he remembered who he was then she would kill him, because she knew he would kill her. She'd walked in on him, several years ago doing katas. She'd been stunned. Her heart had become a cold stone in her chest, she knew it could only be a matter of seconds before he turned and casted a fire ball in her direction.

He'd turned, noticing her presence. His arms had dropped and his lips pulled into a tight smile.

She didn't know how long she stared. She didn't know how long he waited for her to say something. She wanted her little peaceful world to stay the way it was. He hadn't tried to kill her, so he had no idea she was a ninja. She decided she was going to keep it that way.

She'd finally burst into fake giggles, which really hinted more at hysterical laughter. She asked him what kind of dance he'd been doing.

His smile became less tight and he walked closer to her. His hand had slipped through her hair and he had hugged her to his chest.

He never answered her question though…

It had been a month later when both of them ended up with several bottles of sake. At first, neither knew what to do with change in relationship, but both gradually and gratefully accepted it.

That is what had truly led to her downfall.

Now she can only think of what ifs. She wants him to see. For the sake of everything that is between them. But she fears he will abandon her; just like everyone else has (they hadn't even looked for body parts.) Things have changed though. Even if he did leave, she knows she'll be alright.

There is barely anything holding her back.

Death is something she deserves, abandonment she expects. The thought of bringing a mass murder back should be the thought that stops her.

The thought of thousands of more people dying because of her used to make her want to stop. But the horror of it has gone. Just like the years dwindled down her pink hair to a pale, off-sheet, tint of pinkish white the years have dwindled her determination to remain true to her beliefs and her once powerful, pristine body to that of a civilian.

The only thing she has is her chakra, which has grown only more powerful and more in control with her constant shielding of it. That is the only thing a medical-nin is supposed to need anyways.

She sighs and her hand instinctively rubs her stomach.

The only thing that is stopping her now is the question of what will come next.

Would he slaughter, torture or throw her against the wall? Would he use his eyes to put her in an endless dream, stealing all sanity from her?

She doesn't mind them, but she does have one question preventing her from going any further in her plans.

Would he kill what's in-?

A long arm wraps around her, right below her chest and above her stomach.

Soft lips press against the side of her face and another hand brushes her hair back. His murmurs are quiet, reassuring that everything will be alright.

She hadn't known she'd started to cry. To sob. Her whole body is shaking in his loose grasp.

To her shame she only cries hard. Everything inside of her is snapping. He's so different than what he is supposed to be; her reality is so warped that she doesn't remember what truth really is.

With every one of his sweet words and chaste, tear eating kisses her resolve is shattering.

And that, in turn, is shattering her.

~0000~

He can't do anything. He can only try and hold her in his arms but each sob cuts him deeper than the last.

He doesn't know why she cries and the townsfolk may say they know, but they don't. Her cries are not natural. The agony in the sobs doesn't come from an infliction of pain upon or in the skin. He's heard every sound imaginable and he knows exactly where to place hers.

The night of the massacre his brother had made those same cries.

It was the cry someone made when their entire world was being destroyed before them. He's destroyed enough worlds to know the sound by heart. Hearing it from her is just a continuous reminder of what he has done. He doesn't know what's causing it. But he has a guess.

It's him.

He is the one causing her so much mental anguish. He doesn't know why. Perhaps she knows who he is and what he's done. Maybe it's because she feels she has betrayed her late husband. He doesn't know. He wants to know. But he fears her answer.

Because if she tells him, and he's right, he doesn't know what he will do. Somehow she's become his world. The night he committed his last sin and laid awake, feeling the alcohol leave his body, he'd forced himself to decide what to do. He'd been putting it off for too long.

He has fallen for her. And he had promised himself he would kill her if he became attached. He's become so attached though that he cannot bring himself to destroy her, at least more than he already has. Out of his own selfish desire he wants to keep her alive. He has wanted a life a peace ever since he'd taken is first kill. He knows he doesn't deserve it but now that it is in his grasp he isn't going to let it escape.

He fears he won't even give it up for her sanity. Which he feels is slowly ebbing away from her.

She finally stops, her breaths equal out and she leans her head into his.

A short sorry is all that escapes her lips and even the small word cracks in her throat.

She deserves to be happy. He should have left a long time ago. But it's too late. That's what he tells himself. He can't leave her now, not at this time.

His only choice is to try and help her. She is cracking and splintering, breaking into pieces. He doesn't know how to fix what is broken. He only knows how to break, and he knows how to do that too well. He doesn't understand what he can do. The fragile, civilian woman in his arms would surely shatter if he tried anything more.

He just holds her. It's the only thing he knows to do. It is the only comfort he remembers from his past. His mother's simple embrace as blood gushed from his eyes as he tried to forget the face of the dead man.

He murmurs words of comfort he knows won't do anything. She brushes her hand against his face and asks him to help her with picking flowers. She is leading him away by his hand before he can ask the question that has been on his mind for months.

He lets it be; if she doesn't wish to speak about the past he won't force her. He understands that sometimes silence is the only thing that helps when darkness clutches at the mind. He also knows that too much silence will crush her.

With the utmost care he squeezes her hand. She is far too fragile for someone like him.

He can only hope it will pass. That they will continue in this life of peace. That nothing will disturb them.

He is always listening though, for something from the past to come to their village. Any shinobi would probably still recognize him.

If word ever reached Madara… He shudders at the very thought of it happening. But he has planned for every possibility. If they have enough time he will find someplace safe; preferably in the sand or leaf village vicinity. He believes the other villages have lost their alliances.

He would then offer himself to the hokage of his homeland. Hatake would surely enlist his help or at least hear him out. He would then provide the man with every jutsu he knows and all his information concerning his insane family member.

But if Madara got to them first.

He would take her life before Madara tried anything. He would jolt her entire system with his chakra or snap her neck. She would die quickly without pain or knowledge. No one deserved that man's torture. He wouldn't let her become an experiment or temporary entertainment. He could do at least that much for her, for them.

He plans to do everything to stop it from coming to that point though.

His fingers stroke her wrist; her skin has become much softer. His hands have stayed the same, if not rougher. With coarse thread sliding across his palms and fingers they have never gotten the chance to heal or soften. It is good, he has decided, because if he ever needs to wield a weapon again he wouldn't be at a complete disadvantage.

Her hand slips from his. He hears the tiny crunch of flowers being snapped near the roots. He holds the wooden basket up subconsciously; he's done this chore so many times there is no real need for thought. But the lack of weight jolts him from his contemplations.

He knows she is there, his hearing hasn't warned him of her departure or anyone's arrival. But she is no longer picking flowers, nor completing the routine of dropping the plant life into the basket.

He waits. It is several long moments before he hears her shift towards him.

Her soft voice asks him what he would do if he could see. The tone is gentle; he knows he doesn't have to answer.

He doesn't know the answer. He knows there is no way for him to gain his sight back, the possibility has never occurred to him. He has never planned for it.

She whispers she's sorry, it was a rude question.

But he shakes his head; he has never considered such a possibility. There were so many choices, so many different possibilities. He would be able to finally meet her. He would be able to see her face, to see her real reactions, to see her eyes. He would become reliable; he would be able to fix broken things around the house, cook and clean. He would even be able to see his-.

He stops. It is false hope. _What ifs_ were sources of evil. He had been taught that since childhood.

He is blind—He will never see again—He doesn't deserve to see again.

Remembering he is being watched, he smiles. He would help her choose flowers, he tells her.

But then he pauses. She shouldn't fill her mind with what can never be. He extends one of his arms out and she walks into his embrace. He holds her tight.

He cannot say what he wants her to understand. It would hurt her, because she isn't use to such disheartening wisdom; he doesn't want her to be use to disheartening things.

He tilts his head and speaks into her ear the only words that will gently get his point across.

"I don't need anything more than this."

~0000~


	2. Ch 2: Names

_This is the second chapter of Collapse. Again, if you haven't read Pity it is advised, but the story is understandable without; Pity just gives a small amount of context._

_I don't own Naruto. _

_Thank you for your reviews they are greatly appreciated._

_Z.z_

**Chapter 2: Names**

His hand is wrapped around her wrist, holding it with the utmost care as he hears her body sink into the water. She is laughing at the chill; he doesn't find it very funny. She shouldn't be in the water, especially cold water. He doesn't care if she thought it was for the best; or the hedge witch thought it would be a good way to relax. Cold water didn't relax anything, it increased adrenaline; if anything began to relax it was wrong and a quick sign of hypothermia. This isn't going to help her. The hedge witch had warned that due to the scarring of his wife's chest that it was possible her heart and lungs had been damaged when she was young. That damage would be intensified under the stress of carrying a child; which meant it was possible that she and the child could die.

It isn't a laughing matter; but she is laughing, blowing it off like the thought of death holds no weight in her heart. She hasn't seen death like him. Death must appear like an inconceivable idea to a civilian. He believes she shouldn't be exercising if something is wrong; he didn't care if swimming was a 'gentle' exercise. But both of the women had insisted that it would help, especially if the damage was in her lungs. He didn't see such logic.

They were two miles from the village. If something were to happen…

He sighs. That is his problem. He can't do anything. Water isn't something he can deal with easily. If she were to drown or go under how could he find her? He asks. She laughs at him.

She thought it was some joke. If something really happened… He bites back a retort before he becomes more upset. It would not do them any good to fight. It would only raise her blood pressure and the entire point of the trip was to lower it. She needs to relax.

She asks him to join her. He sniffs at her. He isn't inclined to catch hypothermia and he says so.

She laughs again and he rests on the grass, slipping his feet into the water. He hears the water shifting as she moves around and feels the lapping effect on his legs. She's pointing out frogs, flowers, the new growth of trees, all the things he can't see, with exceptional detail. He listens intently to every word, for every description paints the world he has lost.

She's become livelier, happier; the doubt or grievances that were in her mind has faded within several months. It's a low murmur in the background, where it will hopefully stay. She has had to focus on concentrating on non-upsetting things; upsetting things raise her stress level and raising her stress level would result in a coughing fit.

When she had her first coughing fit his heart had hammered… When she'd gasped and said she'd coughed up blood everything had frozen. She had to shake him with wet, sticky hands. She'd then cried that she needed to see the town healer. He didn't know he was capable of such fear. No shinobi training, none of his inhuman, apathetic instincts had kicked in. He'd frozen unable to do anything. He couldn't form a sentence let alone move. The thought of her dying had become impossible to him; it was a thought he'd let slip into his mind and take hold of him. With the possibility that she… that his baby could die… the inside of him had screamed that he would be the one held responsible. The reason he suffered now was because of his past. All the things he'd done were now adding against them.

They'd gotten to the healer. And he'd learned that an eighteen year old scar could mean the end of her life. The healer had said that it was possible there was some scar tissue, or damage in her heart or lungs which would cause the blood. It wasn't good. That was clear to him. The hedge witch believed that as the 'attacks' were avoided there wouldn't be a problem. What caused the coughing fits; the hedge witch didn't know. The woman assumed they were linked to stress. The hedge witch had advised them to see the healer several towns over, a shinobi healer. His wife had declined claiming she would just find ways to relax.

For her, it meant shifting her attention away from distressing things. The past, in particular, seemed to be her area of greatest distress. To his perception she appeared to be focusing on the future. She'd begun to talk about things such as what type of wood for a crib, if she could sew a blanket together before the child arrived.

She made him see how many opportunities there were before them. That there were many door ways that could be entered and that no amount of planning for something so unforeseeable could direct what would happen. So for now he is content with just being.

She pulls at his toes, wanting his attention like a child… A child…

Did a man like him deserve such a thing?

Eventually he would have to explain chakra and bloodlines to it then… would it despise him? For how could he explain it all without telling the whole story? How could he explain such crimes to a civilian raised child? He would need to speak with her too… He can already hear her screaming for him to leave. He can only prepare himself for it. But for now she needs him in her weakened state. She cannot afford to send him away. So he decides that, even though in the end he will only cause her pain, only when the child was old enough would he tell her. Everything. What he has done, who he is, his real name…

Faking obliviousness to his past was a lie. Everything between them was built on that lie. When he told her the truth, she would see it. It was only the immediate future that was promising to him, after the child grew old enough though… He puts his mind to the immediate future.

"We need a name," a name would make it more real; even though he needed no more attachment to it. In reality if Madara ever… he should kill it and her, but he has enough innocent blood on his hands. The world had been lenient with him for one thing. For once he'd gotten something good, something that had only been a farfetched dream, a family and he couldn't take it away. He needed it more than he would ever admit or realize.

The chances were high that Madara was more preoccupied with other matters to look for a dead man or his family. For all he knew his brother and the blond haired Kyubi had killed the man already. It was a fanciful idea but perhaps together… if they were ever able to settle differences over the death of their comrade.

"You're not even listening to me." He can hear the tone of playful pouting in her voice. She seems to know when his mind deals with other matters.

He apologizes; the past is past; he shouldn't dwell upon it.

"We should make a deal. Female, I name it; male, you name it."

He smiles. She is completely innocent. It is obvious she had a female name already picked out, most woman did. It was cute.

"Well?" He asks. "What is the female's name?"

If it was too awful he might be able to persuade her otherwise.

"This may sound weird, but when I was a little girl my mom used to tell me that if a traveling medic hadn't come to the village then my mom would have died with me."

That caught him off guard. Her mother had birth troubles which usually meant the daughter would have birth troubles. Birth troubles along with her condition… Would she die?

"There was a large spread illness in our village… It wasn't due… It wasn't…" She clears her throat and returns to her story. "I want to name her after the medic that saved my mom and me… almost my entire village; Tsunade."

He wonders at how small the world is. Not even her innocent life was left untouched by the shinobi world. But at least it had been changed for the better at that time.

"It's a good name," he smiles, "I had an opportunity to meet her."

"Really? What was she like?" She sounds excited and he notices she is completely oblivious to the fact she is now pulling his leg hairs. He touches her arm, which makes her stop the irritating action.

He remembers Tsunade's soft touch on top of his eyes when he first received his sharingan. She'd been one of the few that had treated him like he was still a child. She'd even warned him about pushing limits for 'clan retribution and recognition.' She'd left soon after to travel the world; out of sorrow, he'd heard.

"She was a good woman and very wise." She led the village well. She'd done her best. It was sad that she had died so soon after the final Akutsuki's attack on the village. He believed a traitor had something to do with it.

He hears her shift, coming closer to him. The water laps further up his leg. She rests her head against his thigh.

"And if it's a male?"

If she could choose someone from the past, so could he… "Shisui."

"Because we're in water? Very creative."

He pats her head. "No, Shisui was my cousin; he was like my older brother." He remembers being carried by the boy when they had been younger; he remembers all the pranks Shisui continued to pull on him after the war had passed to 'save his baby cousin from becoming a board.' Shisui had plans and had told them all to him. Yet he was the one to have been blessed by a woman's hand. He was the one who ended up with a family…

The world is twisted and mocks desires of youth.

"What happened to him?"

So she could hear the pain in his voice. "The thoughts of power, justice and chauvinism do odd things to people." By the time he held him under the water Shisui wasn't the person he'd been. The light hearted man had become scornful and angry. The change was so drastic it hadn't been too hard to believe that the person he'd been holding hadn't been Shisui at all. But he knew, his eyes had bled and he knew. He doesn't want to put Shisui in such bad light; to ruin the memory of who the man had once been. The man had once held the position of a role model.

His lips twist up in a sad grin. "Tell me, would you rather be killed by a stranger or by a family member?"

She goes quiet.

The frogs croaking break the silence, but it does not ease his worry. What would she say now that she had a clue to what he truly is? Would she demand he leave? Fear him? Fear that he would do the same to her as he did to his cousin, his family, his clan? It would be a plausible fear and he would not be able to deny them and not lie.

"Did you…" Her voice shakes, "Did you kill…?"

He slips into the water not bother to remove his outer layer of clothing. The water is cold, but not as cold as it was on that night.

He takes her in his arms and holds her tight. "If there had been some hope… That they might be saved," His voice dies out. He presses his face against hers. "I could not allow innocent people to die for the sake—"of one man, one father, one mother, one family, one clan…

He was the heir, they were his responsibility; the thought of them sending strangers to destroy what was his… The strangers wouldn't have cared to know the names of those they destroyed. The strangers wouldn't have asked for apologies in their sleep, they wouldn't have given a thought to the crimes they had done. Strangers would have rampaged through, not caring enough to stay out of Elder Liu's flower garden. They would have killed the genin up front; made them fear for their lives instead of slipping in behind them and letting their lives glide into a sleepy haze. They would have entered the shrine through the paper instead of opening the door. They would have dropped gas canisters into the shelters instead of going down to face them. The strangers would have killed them all. All of them.

He holds her closer, "They would have killed Sasuke." His voice is less than a whisper. He couldn't let them kill his brother. The only way to save the clan was to destroy it… If he had left more alive they would have just killed them by superficial means; not to mention most had already been tainted by the talk of uprising. But with the threat of his return, the threat of him coming for them if his brother had been killed; made them pay attention. His brother lived.

But, he'd been a fool. He should have known power and vengeance brought the same emotions that caused the destruction of his clan. That the search for truth would turn his little brother into what he once had to prune from the clan. He had been naïve enough to believe that without clan influence his brother would learn the way of the will of fire in an abstract merge with hatred and that once vengeance was taken the will of fire would be the only thing to remain.

His efforts had resulted in leading his brother down the path of corruption and being manipulated by villainous figures. He'd become selfish after destroying them all. His façade had been slipping and he believed that if the façade slipped his brother would only become more of what he'd destroyed. The only thing he'd wanted was death and he had only manipulated his brother into bringing it. After Sasuke had gotten revenge, the boy had only turned to more vengeance, knowing no other path. If he hadn't let his façade slip, if he hadn't spoken from his heart at the last moment; the boy might not have turned to Madara.

He was a monster then. He is a monster now.

He has gained the trust of an innocent civilian, taken refuge in her home and tainted her body with the blood of his family. The same blood that screamed for power by requiring the death of a loved one, demanded eyes of a kinsman for sight, and summoned the Kyubi. It was the same blood that had stained his katana that fateful night. He has cursed her and she doesn't even know it; he hadn't given her a choice.

He kisses her cheek. She is cold and shaking.

"You're freezing." It is hard to draw his voice up from a painful whisper. It is the first time he has ever spoken about his past without having to pretend he did it for power.

He picks her up and sets her on the side of the bank. "I'll get our towels."

He shouldn't have said anything. He doesn't know what she is thinking; he is scared to know what she is thinking. He extends her the towel; she takes it in her hands.

She takes a breath to speak.

He fears the worst.

"Let's go home," she says, her voice slightly shaken but firm.

He still has a home. He lets out the breath he'd been holding. The life they have would continue; if only for a few more years. Then, when he told her everything; he would let her make the decision. If she chose for him to leave; he would leave. He takes her hand. "Yes le—"

Multiple chakra signatures spike nearby. Both tense.


	3. Ch 3: From One Comes More

_Well, here is chapter three of Collapse; I hope you all enjoy. _

_(It should be obvious that this is an AU but fairly similar with some aspects of the original series and very different with others.)_

_Anyways, I have a poll up about Collapse and would be pleased if you participated. My question lies with the present-tense this story is written in, if readers enjoy it or not, if the readability is good or not. If none of the answers are likeable or you have more input please fill free to PM me. _

_Thank you for your time,_

_Z.z Mustsleep_

**Chapter 3: From One Comes More**

Her pulse increases. A slim part of her hopes the shinobi will pass; but she knows her hope is for not. They are already closer. Her husband's arm is tight around her as if trying to shield her.

The noise of metal on metal rings through the air and it penetrates her ears even though his grip becomes tighter. Two of the chakra signatures flicker in and out; they are hiding their signatures but then they are back flashing vibrant. The radical control marks them as jounin in her mind. There is a third, its chakra dim; a genin. Whom against who though?

"Get down," he whispers. His warm hand touches her shoulder squeezing; she realizes now how cold she is.

Her mind doesn't react to his request. Everything has come to a stop in her head. Shinobi would mean the death of her, of him, of them. The clinging of metal is the sound of death to her ears. There is no way to avoid the sound though. It is everywhere.

Suddenly she is engulfed in a warm mass and is being dragged downward. He whispers her name in her ear and her mind finally engages.

"What do you see?" he asks.

She analyzes the surrounding area. Besides the sound of metal, there is only the sound of thudding wood. But there is no movement.

"Nothing—"she begins but then a body falls from a tree. A child's body.

"A kid just—"the thump of body mass doesn't quite filter in her thoughts. She hasn't dealt with fighting, death, for so long.

Two older males jump down from the branches.

"There are two older men going towards the kid," her voice is a faint whisper, barely audible over the sound of water and frogs.

The metal on their headbands are scratched but the symbol on them isn't clear from the distance.

She can't let them hurt a child. Her fingers fill the swelling of her belly. Even though she has been gone from her village, it is still too hard to ignore the cry inside her to protect the innocent and injured. Good or justice, she doesn't know what spurs her. Perhaps the will of fire is still inside, a damp flame but a flame none the less. She would deal with the consequences of her actions. She glances at the man beside her; he is staring in the general direction.

She kisses his cheeks, "I won't let them kill the kid."

She grabs a riverbed rock and sizes it. Her eyes look back up only to take in a peculiar sight.

The missing-nins are wandering aimlessly. She glances at him. His hands are formed in a seal, his focus straight forward.

It is then she realizes how powerful he is and what it means to be ANBU captain at thirteen. He is performing a befuddling genjutsu with only a small, warm bud of chakra escaping; no one would notice if they weren't looking. He couldn't even see the targets but he was able to cast a genjutsu.

Somewhere the word 'prodigy' echoes; Kakashi had told her that the man had been a prodigy born from war. He had been a child with the abilities far beyond his years and had gone insane for power so young too. As a medic she had been ordered to disengage from combat and immediately retreat if he was sighted.

His black lashes close over grey eyes, and then they open once more. He lowers his hands. "We have about ten minutes to get the boy out of here."

Boy? She hadn't been able to decipher gender, how had he?

One of the shinobi plops to the ground.

He kisses her shoulder, "We have to hurry."

They make their way past the fumbling men to the crumpled body of the boy.

Mothering instincts or medic ones take over and she finds herself at the child's side, inspecting for injuries. There are several minor gashes on his body, but besides a dislocated shoulder from the fall the boy has no grievous injuries. Physically though, there are alarming aspects.

The gauntness of his face shows signs of starvation. The weak chakra signature is not from a lack of pool, but due to exhaustion. The lack of food and exhaustion along with being chased would be the reason for his collapse, not the injuries.

She stares down at the child, at the dirty blond hair caked with dried blood from a gash on his cheek. The boy's breaths come in short gasps. Her body goes numb as she stares at the headband; the insignia had meant home for at least eighteen years of her life.

"Is there a metal headband on his forehead?" he asks.

Somehow she finds her voice, "Yes."

"Is there a slash in middle of it, length wise?"

"No," it is still beautiful, unmarred with treason.

"What does the symbol on it look like?"

She wants to lie and she almost does. But if the boy woke up and spoke then he'd find her to be a liar, then he'd begin to question her. "It's a swirl with a triangle on one end."

He breathes out and kneels next the boy. She fears he will snap the child's throat but then his right hand brushes the metal rubbing the symbol with the tips of his fingers.

"We need to leave," he tells her. His voice sounds as though it is heavy, as if there is regret.

The child is in his arms when he calls her name to get her attention.

"We need to leave now."

She nods her head, even though she knows in some part of her mind, that he can't see it. She grabs his sleeve with one hand and towels in the other, and then she leads him through the woods in the direction of home.

She gives him glances, every now and then, and he seems to know and look back at her. She turns her head away quickly. He's powerful; he remembers all of his shinobi training and is still in prime shape. But she also notices how careful he is holding the boy, how he leans in close to make sure the breathing continues on beat. Fear and love take hold of her and she is not sure what she should do.

The man at her side comes to a stop at the edge of the trees. He sets the boy down and looks down at her.

"I'll be just a moment," he tilts his head to the side, as if motioning in the direction of the village.

She turns and sees nothing. She looks back only to find that he is no longer there. The padding of footsteps on wood is almost covered by the sound of chirping birds, _almost_.

He's not helpless; he's not some blind fool who is no longer dangerous; he's not who he pretended to be. He's the same person he always was. He is the same person that killed her friend's family, his own family. She'd forgotten or tried to ignore it. Why did she?

Why did she save him all those years ago?

Did she need something? Did she think she needed a purpose? Did she think saving him would win the love she would never receive from his brother?

Her hand runs along her belly. Had she?

No, she shakes her head and then feels the warm breeze brush against her face. He must have used a fire jutsu on the missing-nins. She understands they would come after them, if they were left alive. But—it is still her fault. They wouldn't have died if she had left him bleeding on that tree…

Her fingers go to her scar and subconsciously she begins to rub it. She is too focused on the trees to notice blond eyelashes moving or brown eyes watching her with interest.

The only thing she can think of is consequences. Everything that he does will be her fault. Did she think she could control him? Yes, she had thought a blind man could pose no threat. She had been wrong, so very wrong.

It is then, she finds herself without a breath. Even though she gasps for air, nothing fills her lungs. Darkness clouds her vision and she wobbles on her feet. Then with one deep breath, oxygen once again runs through her system. The coughing starts. Moist, warm, iron tasting liquid fills her mouth and at the same time her stomach is filled with pressure.

Kicking, it's kicking. She wants to be happy; it's a sign of life. But the only thing that fills her is nausea. She doesn't know if it is from her child, her worries, or from what she had seen in the woods. All she knows is that it can't continue or she will die.

Her eyes glance from the dark red ground to him. He is walking on the ground from under the trees, as though he'd just taken a stroll. His shoulders are straight and his eyes stare ahead, unseeing, past her.

His movements were smooth and careful, so shinobi like. How did she not see it?

Year ago, many years ago, she might have stood a chance at escaping or damaging him. She'd become weak though. She'd allowed herself to become weak. If he ever found out, she would be at his mercy. He would no doubt kill her. Kill her because she had lied; no shinobi ever took lies well. Their own lives were so full of deceit that they could rarely take it if they were deceived.

Perhaps it was better to die or better to kill him.

How many times had she imagined killing him? There were millions of ways she knew them all.

His head tilts to the side as he nears her. He can hear her breathing. She hadn't realized how loud her gasps were.

His hand reaches for her and she wants to back away, she wants to flee. But her body won't move.

His hand rests at her throat and in her mind's eye she can feel it snapping and hear the noise. She had done it to others; she knew the sound too well.

His hand moves to behind her neck and she is pushed forward into a hug.

She can't kill him. She can't betray him. She can't save herself. She wraps her arms around her waist and holds onto him. He is the only person in the world she has. He is her madness and sanity, treason and loyalty, grief and love, loss and family. She has nothing but him and their child.

The words 'I love you' move on her lips upon his skin but there is no voice to it. Twelve years and there is no voice to the words, the finality, the defeat, the submission of her greatest crime; and he can't hear her.

His lips are next to her throat, then on her ear planting soft, gentle kisses. "And I you." His words are so quiet she doesn't know if it's her imagination or not.

She takes one of his hands and places it over her moving bump.

For a moment, they are both in another place, far away from the world, from hurtful truths and deceitful lies. They are just a regular couple, experiencing the morality of life. He kisses her mouth and he tugs away. They are back again.

"What happened?" he had tasted the blood and his hands are running across her face, neck, back, stomach searching for wounds.

"It was just a couple coughs," she tries to calm him but he only seems more agitate.

"You need to see a real doctor."

He wants her to see a shinobi healer, but she won't take the chance. She would never take the chance. "We just had too much excitement today," she laughs trying to be lighthearted but it is strained and they both know it.

He makes hum with the back at his throat, the matter isn't settled but he understands that it isn't the time to deal with it.

"We need to get the kid to the doctor unless you think you can push the arm bone back into his shoulder socket," she says, hoping he will forget the matter.

He tilts his head to the side before nodding his head. "You direct me; I can put it back in." He sounds confident, even though mistakes in relocating could cause severe damage later on.

"How about you tell me what to do and I'll do it?" she asks arguing. She knows for a fact he is blind, and not being able to see the subject could be the difference between good as new and loss of movement, a horrendous difficulty for a shinobi. Perhaps he wanted the boy injured?

He lips tilt up and she knows he's given in.

"I'd prefer if a doctor did it, actually," a high voice chimed to the side of them.

She feels his grip on her tense, but there is no sign of him on the outside of being surprised.

"The closest doctor is a hedge witch who makes potions from grass and cow urine," her husband growls.

He doesn't believe a word from the old woman's mouth. In fact, he has been against her each time they've seen her. She knows the woman is odd and almost everything she says is just a midwife's tale but it is better than nothing.

She watches the brown-eyed boy make a funny face but submits pointing at her, "Then I'd prefer she does it."

Her husband sighs, "Very well." He explains it briefly, but she does not need the steps; she has done it many times before.

Yet she follows his words exactly and the child's face becomes expressionless as she shoves the bone back into socket. "You're lucky you didn't break anything," she tells the boy as she stands with the help of her husband.

The child doesn't answer her, but directs his attention to the woods. "Was there anybody near me, where you found me?"

She doesn't know what to say, she doesn't know what she should know.

"Yes," her husband answers looking in the kid's direction, "they went off though, looking for something it seemed."

"Odd…" the boy mutters as he tries to stand using the tree for support.

The indention of his cheeks and the sunken look of his eyes pull at her heart. He stumbles and she reaches to grab him.

She didn't see it coming; the shuriken in his hands was at her throat in an instant.

"I don't know who you people are, but those men wouldn't have gone off looking for something. They would have interrogated me. So where are they?"

There is silence and it is thick around them. Killing the boy would do them no good, only more shinobi would come, especially when dealing with their old village. The death of a child, or genin team was not taken lightly.

"I—"she wonders if she still has it in her to lie well. "I didn't mean to—they jumped down from the trees and they looked like they wanted to hurt us, so I picked up a rock and I threw it; it hit him in the head. There was blood—I—"she shakes and she gives breathy gasps, but she can't get tears to come.

But the look on the boy's face tells her she's did it well enough. He lowers his shuriken. "And the other?"

"I disarmed the other one and gave him leave but then he continued his attack and I was forced to defend myself," her husband's calm tone has almost a chill to it, knowing her lies he is probably upset.

She squeezes his hand, she knows the truth and he knew she knew the truth. But there was nothing they could do about it.

"You guys are the lucky ones; they were missing-nins from Mist," the boy is still weary but he puts away his weapon. "Are there any shinobi in this town?"

"There were none before you arrived," and with that she turns away from the boy and grabs her husband's arm with her hand that is free of towels and tugs him along the path leading back to their small town.

"Hey! Look, I'm sorry, ma'am, you just can't trust anyone," the boy says as he tries to catch up with them.

They ignore him for the most part. Her husband drapes an arm over her shoulder.

"Hey!"

The boy is before them running in a large circle. "I said I was sorry."

"You're forgiven," she tells him.

"And I-," the boy scratches the back of his head in a way she knows _too_ well, "-I guess I should thank you for saving me."

"Did you fall in poison oak?" she asks as she and her husband slow to a stop.

"Huh?"

"You're scratching your head…" but she knows there is no oak, and that it is just a habit he has picked up, but from who is what she wants to know.

"Oh," the boy lifted up his hand, "It's just a habit that I picked up from my sensei."

It hadn't answered her question, Kakashi or Naruto? "They say imitation is the greatest proof of idolization," her husband chuckles.

"Oh please, the guy might have been the hokage but he's just a pervert," then the boy realizes what he has said and he slams a hand over his mouth.

Kakashi, there was no doubt. Naruto usually inspired loyalty. She glances at her husband. There is a tiny smile on his features. "A slip up like that could cost you a mission. But I think it could pay for your dinner," he glances down at her.

The boy needs food that is for certain. And she almost agrees when she realizes that all the weapons she owns are still on the ceiling.

She smacks her husband's side. "I haven't cleaned in ages; you can't just invite someone over!"

"I don't mind how your—"the boy began.

"Nonsense. Give me a good fifteen minutes head start at least," she tries to sound grumpy, angry and flustered not scared and with her pregnancy she pulls it off. "Sweetie, take him up to the doctor's house for some clean bandages; that should give me enough time to put something on the stove and pick up a bit."

Her husband nods, "as long as you don't exhort yourself."

/

And she tries not to. But up and down on the chairs she goes, taking down several kantanas, throwing stars, needles and shurikens. She moves her toxin collection to under the sink while she puts several thin strips of meat on a pan on the stove. She takes out an assortment of plates they use for serving village potlucks and sets them on the table.

She puts on a pot of water to boil some potatoes and then begins moving her flowers off sitting furniture.

In several more minutes the two are back.

She wraps the boy's gashes with gauze and comments about the severity of his thinness, the boy laughs it off though seeming much more at ease.

"It's weird," the boy finally says, "not being able to talk about stuff."

She fakes obliviousness, "Why are you not able to talk?"

The boy puffs his chest proudly, "Security reasons, ma'am."

Her husband is chuckling in a deep throaty way, "So I assume we can just call you boy."

"Well no, not stuff like that, just mission stuff. You can call me Tai."

They give him their names and he sinks into the small couch eyeing the flowers and asking questions. He wonders at the many types of flowers and how she chooses the ones for her bouquets.

They eat food and drink tea, then sit in the living room talking about weather and herbal remedies.

"How many months?" the boy finally asks.

"Almost six," she smiles rubbing her stomach.

"And how old are you?" her husband's asks spinning thread on the opposite side of the room from them.

"Eleven," the boy smiles, "I got to graduate early."

"Well, they you must be pretty good," she smiles.

"Of course," the kid beams and to her it is like looking at the reflection of her blond-haired knucklehead.

"Since your supposed teacher was the sixth hokage, who's the hokage now?" Her husband asks his focus looking intent on the thread.

"You don't know?" The boy laughs, "Wow talk about being separated from the world, I guess the whole mountain thing does it, huh? Naruto Uzumaki, although my dad says it's Naruto Namikaze but he always tells us, 'I am Naruto Uzumaki, believe it!' He's super powerful, although he's a little odd."

"Let me guess you want to be just like him?" She asks, how Naruto inspired such loyalty was beyond her… Well, sometimes inspired such loyalty; it hadn't kept her from her actions.

"No way, I want be like his right hand man, Sasuke Uchiha; he's really serious and all but everyone respects him. I bet if the hokage and him got into a fight the Uchiha would win. They only spar though..." the boy trails off and then smiles. "If I become greater I bet he would teach me some of his cool moves."

"Hmm… I heard Uchihas' only gave training to their blood," her husband murmurs and she wonders if he is trying to gently tell the child that Sasuke won't train him.

"Where have you guys been? Sasuke is the last Uchiha."

"No kids?" Her husband stops his spinning.

"He's not married," the kid laughs, "or interested in women for that matter. No devout male shinobi should. That way the village's protection always comes first."

She gives a quiet sigh and smile; it seems Sasuke hadn't changed much. He is still primary focused. She glances at her husband and he looks strained. Did he want his brother dead? No, he had been speaking gently about Sasuke at the small pond. He'd been talking about the massacre too, the way he'd spoken almost made it appear as if he wasn't given a choice. What if that was the case? What if that was the reason he appeared to be a power hungry man in the bingo book but was in fact peaceful. The profile hadn't matched the man, a guilty man but perhaps not an evil man.

"Hmm… It's seems rather sad to me. A home and a family," her husband says turning in her direction, "is a very peaceful and good life."

She feels warmth in her belly and cheeks. It is a very good life. It _had _been a beautiful life. But now they would face a dilemma, from one shinobi more would come. She decides she'll ask that they leave; to a new town, further from the shinobi world. She wonders if he will buy it. Maybe if she used the fact there was no spare room to house a child. It could work. It had to work.

The boy is looking at her husband oddly, as if noticing him for the first time. The brown eyes are narrow as if analyzing the man's actions. The boy glances at her then gives a smile, furthering her doubt that the boy is trying to hide his actions. Did he know? Did he recognize the face? Years had changed them both, but if one knew what to look for, it was obvious that he was an Uchiha. If the boy knew and told Kakashi, there would be a tidal wave upon them; a mass-man hunt for a blind man.

"Not everyone is built for a life a peace," the boy replies to her husband but his eyes are locked on her. No doubt, wondering at her look of fear that must have flashed upon her face.

"Very true," her husband answers standing. "It's about time for bed, yes?"

"Yes," it is late, far later than they usually stay in the living room. They usually were in bed by such a time. "I assume you're staying. We don't have a spare bed; I hope the couch will do."

"I have been sleeping on the ground for the last month, a couch would be lovely," the boy chirps.

She turns and smiles, the boy didn't realize that such information could have revealed facts about his mission.

"Sleep well," her husband says and he leaves to the bathroom.

She pulls out her spare bedspread, blankets and pillow from the small hall closet. She lays them on the couch even though the boy tries to deny her aid.

She waits for him to settle himself in before she turns to turn off the light, but the boy's hand catches her's.

"You know your husband is a shinobi, right?"

The words chill her. Her first reaction is to fight, then to flee, but then logical reveals only two choices: deny or accept the boy's words. Acceptance would mean more shinobi and more shinobi would find her guilty of treason and him guilty of murder. If she can somehow persuade the boy otherwise everything would be well.

"No," she turns with a smile that feels too tight on her face," you must be mistaken."

"No, I'm not," the boy's eyes narrow.

"Yes, you are. He's not a—"

"Ma'am, he is a shinobi."

She could kill him; he would never say a word to anyone then. That thought had come with a look and the boy drops his hand and there is a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

"No," she presses her finger to his lips. "Please, just let us be," she whispers, "we're just peaceful civilians."

The boy's mouth closes but his eyes are now watching her as her hand rubs her stomach, analyzing her as gaze never leaves his face.

He rests back down, "Sleep well."

She gives a grateful smile, even though her heart feels as though it is coming up her throat. "You too." She leaves turning off the light.

Her steps quicken though and she almost bursts into a run as she tries to reach the bathroom. Neither she nor the boy notices the blind man who has tucked himself in darkness of the hallway and who had been listening intently to their exchange.


	4. Ch 4: Playing House

_Chapter 4 of Collapse_

_Hmmm I realize now that this plot may turn out to be slightly M rated (and not for sensual stuff.) I may have to make a few changes… hmmm, or just give massive warnings. But no worries nothing happens in this chapter that requires a rating change. _

_. my updates seem a tad bit fast, perhaps I shouldn't write so much at once… They will be slowing down though, RL will be keeping me busy. _

_Well, I hope you enjoy reading chapter four of Collapse. Thank you those that have reviewed, I do appreciate them._

_Z.z_

**Chapter 4: Playing House**

She curls against his warmth and one of his arms loops around her. How could he not tell what she was? Why had he chosen to believe in her lies? They had been too beautiful perhaps… It had been easy to relax, to let go. He was and is a pacifist and he has wanted a life of peace ever since he was a child. She had given it to him. How could he have denied his deepest desire? Now he needed to determine why. Why had she lied to him? What trap had she hoped to pull? Did she think he would waste away to a civilian so easily? Did she want his bloodline for her village? Or was she sent by Madara to make sure he behaved?

He closes his eyes and breathes her in. Was it possible that she is innocent? Perhaps she is just a wounded woman who refuses to see truth. The grey walls she claimed to be blue were just supposed to make her happy, for how could a woman, by herself, move furniture and repaint and still have time for work. Claiming he wasn't a shinobi was an effort to make sure her life held together. Her claim gave her the assurance of control she did not have.

"How are you feeling?" he asks quietly. She'd been throwing-up again; he thought it was only supposed to happen in the mornings.

There is hesitation, and for a moment, he believes she is asleep. "Better," she answers.

He brushes her hair and leans in to kiss her forehead. His lips touch moisture; even though the room is cool she is sweating. He knows near to nothing about symptoms, sicknesses and pregnancies but feeling her cold skin sweat makes him worry.

"May we speak about serious matters for a bit?" he asks. He needs to know the truth. He has to know if she is an enemy. But half of him wants her to say, _'no, not tonight.'_ He wants to put it off, for many years; he wants life to remain peaceful. But he has been raised a shinobi, in a clan that trusts little and seeks relentlessly. His years of training, his mind, his fear wins over his heart that screams for the questions to stop.

She rests her head back against his chest, submitting to him.

"Thank you," he says kissing her brow once more. He climbs over her, gently, and then turns, lying on his side to face her. He closes his eyes and wonders where to begin. So many questions fill his head, but he has to begin, or he never would.

He opens his eyes, "You told the boy I was not a shinobi." He wants to add, _'but you know I am one and that's why you've been lying to me.'_ But he adds nothing, he will not tell her what he knows; he wants her to answer. Her answer will tell him how she plans and escapes questioning, so he will be able to read her later. He just hopes he can. Body signals he can no longer see; expressions, eye flickers, and twitches too.

"Because you're not one," she replies. Her voice sounds too quiet in his ears, as if she fears she will shatter some spell if she speaks louder.

She is either scared of the truth in reality or of him, which he is uncertain. But he doesn't like to hear her filled with such uncertainty and fear. He knows he will have to endure, that she will be forced to endure, because he has to know the truth. It must come.

He reaches out carefully and rubs her cheek. At first he believes he feels tears, but he reminds himself it is just sweat. "My love… I am a-"

"You're not," she cuts him off. Her voice sounds forced and he can hear the fear and pain in her words. He can feel her face muscles tightening beneath his fingertips.

She is denying truth, for reasons unknown to him. Those reasons could kill him though, just as easily as they could kill her. "I am."

"No, you're just well built," she tells him, this time he hears conviction behind her.

She was adamant. Something was sorely amiss. How much did she know? Did she know what he had done? Did she know who he was? Who the boy was?

"A person in denial attracts more attention than a truthful one." Her jaws tighten and he runs his fingers across her brow, they are pulled together in thought. He is going to have to take a different route to get the answer he wants.

"The walls are all grey." The boy had mentioned the drab, gloominess of the house when they were waiting for food. He lets his words hang in the air between them. He states it as a fact; he asks it neither as a question nor with condemnation. He wants to know why she would tell him differently.

"Blue's a pretty color." Her voice is quieter and it shakes. From reality or him though?

"Yes, blue is a very pretty color," he agrees. Were the walls like their life? The idea a promise of beauty but in reality just a pitiful sight to behold.

He rubs the tip of her ear in affection and he can feel her breaths begin to return to normal. He is supposed to stop her from being stressed, but now he seems to be causing it.

He has to know though. He has to know what she knows. He closes his eyes and sighs, then takes a deep breath. He opens his eyes, there is darkness no matter what he does, but he knows the perception one has of eyes. He knows that as long as they look like they were seeing, people believed they were. "Do you know who I am?"

Her breath stops and there is hesitation before he feels the weight of the bed shift, she is trying to escape. Her body tenses ready to strike. She betrays all of her lies and truths. He knows what she is. She is no civilian. A civilian would have reacted immediately with denial or truth or immediate escape. A shinobi was trained to think, to think quickly about all outcomes, to debate about escapes and chances. But it is obvious to him that her training was many years ago and it does not help her that she is full with child.

He grabs her around her upper back and pulls her so her head is held tightly but carefully against his chest. What village was she from? Who was she reporting to? Was she a rogue? What could she have gained by being with him?

He gives a sigh as she tries to fight, he can now feel her heart rate thrumming beneath him. She is withholding her chakra; she thinks he doesn't know she's a shinobi.

He turns and in an instant, she is pinned underneath him and it only takes one of his hands to pin hers back. He realizes how thin her wrists are, how thin she is for a woman bearing a child. How sick was she? Would she die for her village?

He would get no answers unless he asked questions, but which questions would lead to answers? He remembers the diary then, what she continues to read and write in every night. Were they messages to another shinobi, to her home?

He leans over and presses himself against her to reach underneath the bed. He can feel her struggle for breath but he knows no true harm will come of it. His fingers run across something he hasn't felt in a long time. He closes his eyes. Weapons. She is squirming; she knows he is feeling the sharp blades.

"Where were they previously?" Would she answer? Did he want an answer?

It took her several moments to reply, "Around the house."

Obviously… he had checked under the bed many times before. Now, why were they under the bed now? Then he remembered. She had wanted to 'clean' the house. Most likely so the boy wouldn't see the weapons.

"In plain sight," he can't help but acknowledge how easy it is to fool a blind man, even though his heart feels stabbed, "well done."

He wants to stop now. He doesn't want to know the truth; but now there is no longer a choice, he has to know who wanted to fool him, to break him, to change him into some form of animal for breeding. "Who have you been reporting to?" His voice comes out as a growl, and he forgets the main point of interrogating is to form a question that must be answered. But there is too much anger in his thoughts for him to maintain his perfect persona of indifference. What village wanted his bloodline? Who had thought they could control him? Who knew using a sweet woman would gain his trust?

"No one."

The pain in her words stops his search. He wants to believe her; he knows the pain in her voice, it's the pain of leaving behind a life once loved. But she has lied too many times. He has no reason to believe her except for the fact that he wants to… with all of his heart, he wants to believe she acted alone to be with him.

"I'm done with the lies," he tells her. He pulls the thick, loosely bound book from below the bed. He releases her hands only to place the journal in them. "You've been keeping a journal, probably a report on your mission. Read it. I want to know what you've reported."

He hears the shifting of the cover and realizes that part of the book had been bound the other has loose papers. "No," he tells her and pulls out the thick bundle of unbound papers. The original 'journal' was no doubt a cover up. "I want you to read the letters."

She answers him with silence, with guilt.

"Read what is written. Top to bottom," he commands.

"Day Thirteen," her voice shakes, "The chidori gashes follow a splintering pattern, the focus point being below the left ribcage. The kidney should have been punctured, but the wound is not deep. The effect of the chidori seems to have been overstated; for this is the second time the wound was not severe enough to cause a massive hemorrhage a major organ."

So she had the notes of the medic-nin in the cave, the medic-nin had been a part of the plan, not someone they had 'stumbled' upon. But who else had been hit by the chidori and not killed? She wasn't the shinobi; she wouldn't be able to answer him.

"The major organs inside of his body are collapsing and are blackened with a disease, several treatments of slightly shifted chakra infusion of-"

He didn't need to hear more, he needed to know who had sent her. He snatches several pages away. "Next."

The papers shake in her hand as her body tremors, "Day twenty-three, his eyes are blind due to the chakra pathway of his eyes collapsing under the strain of chakra use, not from the disease like I originally thought. This means his brother will more than likely go blind as well. It should be possible to reconstruct the pathway and injured area but because of the target area being so small and my knowledge of eyes limited, trying now could eliminate any possibility of the eyes regaining sight. But if there is a possibility then his brother's sight can be saved."

Odd, maybe the medic-nin had been from Kohona and had been trying to find a way to save his brother's sight. Perhaps the plan was from the council… He concentrates, for he needs to know who the woman before him has been reporting to. He grabs a large chunk of the papers and tosses them aside and he hears them flutter to the floor. "Next."

"Day nine-hundred-and-fifty-two, the eye sensitivity to chakra is second only to the heart. Minimal amount can only be used; the heavy overload of chakra escaping the pathway is probably another reason for the pathway's collapse within the optic nerve, the structure's integrity had been compromised with having extremely powerful chakra rushing through it, and the overflow, the escaping chakra, also caused the slow disintegration of the retinal nerve fibers, the cause of his gradual loss of eyesight. When the chakra pathways are reconstructed they must be reinforced with a thin filament of membrane, much like the heart pathway already has, to reduce damaging effects of the sharingan and its offspring. This technique might also aid Kakashi Hatake, giving easier manageability and chakra control to the patient."

She was the medic-nin. He hadn't been sold for breeding, he had been an experiment. And from the sound of it, the reports were only to keep track of her findings. A rogue medic-nin. He takes the rest of the papers and book and sets them on the floor.

"You're not working for anyone, are you?"

"No," and he can feel the bed shudder as she starts to cry.

She is just as alone in the world as he is. But he still doesn't know what truth comes from her mouth. She hasn't tried to kill him though. And he is sick to his stomach at her tears. Even if she is working for Madara, he doesn't believe he cares anymore. He kisses her forehead and gets off of her, setting himself to the side. He holds her to him.

"You're upset," she chokes; her voice is laced with fear. She knows everything about him; she knows he is a murderer.

"Very," he replies. He is angry at the world and what it has made them, but there is something else he is more upset about. "You're a medic-nin and you haven't taken care of yourself."

She laughs, tired and pained, "I have had more important things to worry about." She curls into his chest and he feels her belly press against him.

"The boy?" he questions, although he knows she has worried about him killing her far more. She must believe that he killed his entire family out of spite and power, and fears that he would kill the child within her.

"He can't know the truth." Her hair brushes under his chin as she rests upon his collar bone.

"He already knows; I'll speak with him." He would hope the child would understand that he was just a man trying to make a living. Perhaps he would make up a lie about losing his sight to an explosion.

"No," she grips his shirt, her fear is back.

For the first time, he knows what she is thinking. She thinks he will kill the child. "I won't harm him."

Her grip loosens. "He can't know."

"No harm will come of it," he promises, children were easy to persuade. "We could always move."

She nods. "But, if they were close we wouldn't have time." Her voice becomes quieter, "We would be hanged, Itachi."

His name rings within him. It has been years, so many years since his title has haunted him. She has known it all along. But. There had been no conviction in her words; she used it as if he were just another man and her, just another woman. There was no anger at who he is nor is he angry; in fact, there is relief that she knew, that he does not have to explain what he is to her. But she hadn't said his name like she would a monster's. It had slipped out like lace, smooth and delicate. Like one lover to another.

He kisses her neck with a tad bit more passion then he intended at first. But she responds, and the only thing he knows is that his wife his before him with his child. He kisses her lips and he can feel them move and stretch into a smile. He breathes hot air upon her neck and then she is laughing underneath him, giggling like a girl far younger than he.

It hits him that he knows nothing about her. He has not a name to call her by. They are husband and wife and he knows her body and she knew his, yet there were too many secrets between them, so many things he did not know. Now he yearned for them. What did she look like? What stories lay upon her skin with her scars, the one on her side, the one on her heart? They could now speak; the veil was gone. They no longer needed to hide. They could tell each other anything; there was nothing too gruesome or fearsome. He would teach her and his child combat, she would teach healing. Everything would be alright.

"Sh-h-hh" she giggles as she tries to push his head away. He pulls away and presses his forehead against hers.

"You're too noisy," she gasps and he can only chuckle.

"I haven't made a sound."

She hits his side, and he can almost pretend they are normal, that they are a married couple in a small town, who own a small flower shop and have no worries besides what kind of crib to buy their unborn child.

But they are not that couple.

"May I ask your name?"

She breathes in and out before answering him. "It's only fair, I guess… Sakura Uchiha," he can hear the smile in her voice.

A small part of him enjoys the way the surname compliments her first; the other part hates the way the tainted, blood and power hungry name compliments her, but he concentrates. Sakura, there is only one he remembers that was a medic-nin. Sakura Haruno, his brother's ex-teammate and presumed dead.

"You're supposed to be dead."

"You too," she replies simply, "the chidori pierced a small hole through me, but I was able to release my Yin Seal."

His thoughts consume him. Something is off; the chidori should have killed them both. The heart could not take such electrical energy, and the kidney was a very tender organ, any disturbance should have ended him, especially in his condition. But why did the rest of the world believe her to be dead?

"Did they leave you?" he asks. But the '_for dead'_ he wishes to add goes unheard.

She is silent before answering. "The blow threw me farther then I would have imagined. When I awoke, they already had my name on stone and the world seemed to have continued on without me. I guess I didn't know what to do, so I just grabbed some stuff from my room and started walking. Then I stumbled across a bleeding blind man, who had been supposedly knocked off at least eight months previously according to the Bingo Book and Sasuke."

A sick feeling starts in his gut. "Eight months?" he questions.

"Yes…"

He had run into the woman several days after his injuries; where, he didn't know. But there was no way he could have survived for eight months with his deterioration rate, without medicine, and injuries from his brother's battle.

What had happened?

Madara. The man played with time like it was a toy. There was no other explanation. Of course, the time stretch seemed too long for Madara's little hat trick, but perhaps with a little bit of demon chakra.

He feels lips upon his cheek and reaches up. Her smooth skin greets his calloused hands. His hand slips behind her head and pulls her down; she gives a low laugh. Madara had let them be; maybe they didn't have to worry. Perhaps they were just a back-up plan and whatever use they were to him had been undone in the years. Madara could be dead too.

He kisses her chin, her cheek, her hair, her lips and she shifts and her hands run through his hair and rub his temples. His eyes close and he feels warmth inside of his head. Chakra, smooth and soft like flesh overcame him. Her control gains his admiration and then he slips into sleep.

/

Something is amiss. The warmth that is usually beside him is not there.

He turns opening his eyes. A bright, white light burns at his retinas and his eyelids snap closed. He lays there, almost stunned… almost. His eyes open once again and he shields them with his hand. He takes in the room, the grey walls, the white dresser, the off-pattern quilt, and the blue drapes then he turns; there are papers littering the brown, wooden floor.

He sits up, his eyes searching the room for one thing, for one person…her…his wife, his keeper, his healer, his lover, his child's mother; but there is no one but him.

He gets up, his feet moving awkwardly as though his brain, eyes, feet and legs are no longer connected. He pulls open the door and stumbles into the hallway.

He is looking for her.

He is searching.

His eyes glance down the hallway, there is the couch and the shifting of blankets as a child moves his feet. He opens the adjacent door. The smell of stomach acid and undigested particles of food invade his nostrils.

He stands in the hallway for several moments looking into the small room with a small shower and tub, a small toilet, and a small sink.

He walks in.

There is no one.

He breathes in…she is just in the kitchen…she has to be in the kitchen. He turns slightly and he sees his reflection in the mirror. Ruffled, dark hair and raven eyes meet his gaze. But his eyes are not focused on the reflection but on the glass itself, and the cracks that have made their way to all ends. The focal point is smashed.

There is blood.

He leans in and his fingers pluck a thin string from the shattered area. It takes a moment for his eyes to see the particle up close. The hair is pale with a tinge of pink.

His eyes close, it is then that he feels another's presence. He turns. Before him is a man hanging in the door way, like a child, swinging back and forth. Meshed, black hair stands in all directions, and black gloves grip the white wooden boarder of the doorway. A red eye peers at him from a whole in a mask that is a swirl of orange and black.

"Itachi, you didn't really think I would allow you to play house forever, did you?"


	5. Ch 5: Forward

_Keep in mind, Itachi and Sakura have been separated from the Shinobi world for almost 12+ years; they know little of what happened after they left. Obviously this is AU, so not everything in the canon will be happening here, that being said, some things will remain true; especially the identities of specific character (just hang in there because it may not be clear in this chapter, or the one after that, or after that.) Those of you, who aren't aware of the canon, just forget I said anything. I will give spoiler warnings when the time comes. _

_Still rated T but I mean T when I say T. No prior warnings necessary for this chapter besides a character implying cruel threats. I do not own Naruto. _

**Chapter 5: Forward**

His eyes close, it is then that he feels another's presence. He turns.

Before him is a man hanging in the doorway, like a child, swinging back and forth. Meshed black hair stands in all directions, and black gloves grip the white wooden boarder of the doorway. A red eye peers at him from a hole in a mask that is a swirl of orange and black.

"Itachi, you didn't really think I would allow you to play house forever, did you?"

His breath is somewhere in his throat. The words are like water, an ocean and he is at the bottom, unable to open his mouth to breathe for fear of drowning. She is gone.

"I hope you enjoyed the fun," the man continues, "but I'm afraid it has come to an end."

His lips try to form words, but he presses them back, swallowing them. He tries to summon his old self, to summon the indifference that he had always been known for. Yet 'where is she!' wants to come screaming out and it keeps coming up like bile, burning and asking for release. He keeps swallowing it, nauseated at its taste, but he has to endure. If he spoke the words, Madara would surely kill her-if he hadn't already.

Madara used to do nothing without reason; he'd been known for being a mastermind, a contemplating genius. He would have considered her another piece to his game and destroying her, until she had served her purpose, would not have suited him. That had been many years ago though. There was no such thing as immortality, the cost of life became more brutal the longer the lifespan. It was likely the person before him was truly a madman, who was dedicated to only two causes: the destruction of Kohona and control of the world. The only thing Itachi hopes for is that the man still knew how to keep an upper hand. Keeping his wife alive would provide Madara with leverage, something desirable in any circumstance.

"It took forever, I must say. I was beginning to think she would never heal you. But now—look," the man reaches out his hand as if to touch Itachi's face," you can see. She can understand us. She knows the inner workings of our eyes. Think of the possibilities, the powers we could have at our fingertips. Think of Shisui's mind control, or that vanishing act of Kakashi's. It's even possible that she could strengthen our powers. There are so many options before us," Madara giggled.

Madara had revealed his cards. He wants to breathe a sigh of relief. His wife is alive. Madara has use for her. She is alive.

"Yes, that little, pathetic wife of yours is alive and well," Madara sneered at seeing the man before him relax, his mood changing to anger, "It would do me no good to kill her, not yet anyways. But, keep in mind both—you and I—know there are things far more painful than death." At Madara's words, the hole in the mask became filled with a rich red light. "Sanity is truly a gift, one that we've been trained to eliminate. True?"

His nose flares as he takes a breath to calm down. It is a struggle; adrenaline pumps through his every vein.

"I'm sure she'd be able to have another child, if she were to lose the one she has," The man started giggling again, humming happily, swinging in the door way.

The anger rages inside, and the rational thought to hold back is no more. His indifference, once his only protection, has been shattered into pieces like his once porcelain ANBU mask, hand cut for a perfect fit. His indifference had broken in the combat to live a life of peace, to love his wife, to prepare to take care of his child. Like his mask that had become shards from throwing it at the ground the night of Shisui's death, his indifference was at his feet in fragments and his emotions were no longer hidden. Searing heat travels to his neck, to his head, to his eyes and there he can almost feel his blood limit then—nothing.

Madara's head tilts, as if knowing something is amiss. Then the laughing starts. The low rumbling begins in the man's chest and moves up to his throat and out of his mouth. "Well, this may make her and your situation a bit more difficult. Perhaps she didn't trust you after all. Oh well, I'm sure if you were to kill her, it would be like taking Shisui's life all over again."

No, nothing would ever be like that. Even though he had planned on taking Shisui's life, had the need for it come, he had never come to terms with it. Now, he knows what it is like to take the life of someone loved; he knows the pain to expect, but he also understands the need. If he had to kill her to save her, Madara would be deeply disappointed. Part of the sharigan dealt with the mind being unprepared for the emotion. He is prepared, for he'd been acknowledging the option for years. It would be painful, so very painful. But it would be right and he would be merciful. Something Madara had never been, nor would ever be, known for. He would be saving her from a fate far more agonizing. He would be quick.

"You've changed," the voice shifts yet again to a different tone, one that is calm. Immediately there was a switch in stance and the hands drop. The man tries a different approach, "Here is my deal: I will guarantee her safety as long as you and she help me. Once everything I ask of the two of you has been completed, you may return to this little world you seem to care so much about. You'll have your child, and many more. You'll never again see another shinobi. A true world of peace, Itachi, we both want the same thing. It will be a world of no more lies, a world with no more killing, a world where people can just live."

Under who's control, came Itachi's thought, but he withholds from asking. Madara has not changed at all. He is still just as manipulative as before. The man knows how to get under the skin, to tempt a souls only desire. Last night had been a promise of a new beginning for the two of them. There would be no secrets anymore. He would have been able to stay with his wife and child forever. She would have taught healing and he, fighting. They would have resided in the village, growing old together. He could never want anything more than holding his woman and young in his arms.

"On the other hand I will destroy her and then you, if you don't."

Madara was still just as coercive. There are only two options. He is being pinned to a wall by shuriken, and now he has been given the choice of which vital organ he wants hit. Until he can think of a plan, he can only play along. If he learns more it is more probable that he can stop the man before him.

"What do you need me to do?" He asks. He needs to be in shape, physically and mentally. He has softened and it could be the difference between life and death. He needs to train, he no longer has his sharingan ability, whether it was purposely done or not he will need to get it back to the fight the man before him.

"There is much to be done my child," the smile in the tone is unmistakable.

Itachi mentally agrees; there is indeed much to be done and planning to do. He will destroy the man before him. Kill him. The rage inside becomes bottled at that thought. He needs to calm down and think. He closes his eyes as Madara begins explaining a plan. There is nothing he wants more than to slit the masked man's throat, but until he has a location, anything to go on, there is nothing he can do. So he nods his head in the right spots in agreement, but inside the fire brews, swelling and refining itself, waiting for an opportune time.

* * *

The sound of meat sizzling on the stove top awakens the boy sleeping on the couch. His eyelids squish together before they open, staring up at a white ceiling. It takes several moments for him to realize where he is and then he breathes in, closing his eyes, enjoying the small comfort from the sweet smell of the blankets and being shielded from the elements. He turns, pressing his face against the pillow as if trying to memorize the feeling. Then with one last press of his head, he rotates himself from under the covers so his feet touch the floor. His nose scrunches and flares as he sniffs the air. The smell of meat extends throughout the room, and the boy's mouth salivates and his stomach growls in anticipation of a meal.

He stands, putting the blankets to the side, stretching on the tips of his toes toward the ceiling. Then he looks toward the kitchen door way and flinches. The blind man stares at him, as if seeing he is there. The man's back is leaning against the wall, his hands folded across his lower abdomen. There is confidence, fatigue and training in his stance, every element about him screams shinobi at the boy. How could the woman be so blind to her husband's actions, or perhaps, how could she flat out deny them? It could be true that they just wanted to live a peaceful life. One would have to want it to live so far away from true civilization of a village, to fend for themselves on the land. But there was something about it that seemed odd and the boy couldn't put his finger on it.

"Good morning," the boy says.

The man only dips his head, the ear length black hair bouncing slightly. His hand goes to his side and he motions the boy to the kitchen. The boy follows the direction and enters.

The bacon on the stove pops and sizzles and the boy can't stop the wide grin from spreading across his face. He stomach growls happily at the sight and then the boy hears a sigh from behind him. He turns and again the eyes of the blind man greet him. They stare intently, as if truly analyzing his every move. Had the woman said something to him? The smile drops off his face. Something is wrong, his instincts are telling him that he needs to take flight, but he hesitates and that is all it takes.

The man clears the space between them in a millisecond with speed the boy has only heard of shinobi having. The man grips his right shoulder, securely but not too tightly. "I'm going to help you find your genin team, we'll leave after breakfast."

Slightly off-balance by such a declaration, the boy asks if the woman is coming too.

The man's back stiffens, becoming straight as a board, and he drops his hand from the boy's shoulder. The eyes narrow, black glinting with the dim light of dawn coming through the window. It is then the boy realizes there is something different about the man, the eyes had been grey the night before, today it was not so.

"You can see?" the boy whispers.

The eyes blink and man draws back. The word is spit out with venom, "Yes."

The boy's mind is ticking and he remembers the woman, "Where is she?"

There is a solemn look to the man; the eyes glance down for only a moment before looking at the boy. "I don't know."

The soft tone and light emphasis makes the boy realizes there is great grief in the words. He wonders if perhaps he caused her to leave when he told her that the man she had married was a shinobi. Guilt fills him. "I'm sorry."

The man raises an eyebrow, but pokes the boy's forehead, "It was my fault; I'm the one who is sorry." He then walks past the boy and takes tongs and flips the pieces of meat. He retrieves another pan and cracks an egg into it. "How do you like them?" he asks motion to the pan.

"Scrambled…" the boy replies his mind still tinkering with everything he is seeing. "How did you get your sight back?"

The man stirs the egg quietly and the boy leans on the counter beside him to watch him. The eyes gaze at the pan though they are not seeing at all. It is the same look, the boy realizes, that his teacher once had when trying to explain why the hokage's second man never has a headband. It's the same look his father had when he asked where his dad was going. Inside the man's head is a debate between telling the truth of a harsh reality and lying to make things easier. The boy knew how to determine which answer, his teacher had submitted and explained that the great Uchiha had abandoned Kohona and became a missing-nin, even killing his own teammate; his father had told him he was going on a long business trip.

"I didn't know she was a shinobi too, a medic-nin," the man begins, and then pauses, "we were on different sides back then." There is more to it, the eyes say so, but the man stops and then looks at the boy. "My past caught up with us."

The boy doesn't understand so he tilts his head to the side trying to figure out the meaning in the man's words. The last sentence finally appears to be the explanation of her absence. "She didn't leave because she wanted to."

The man nods and looks at the boy. "If I join with you to find your team, it may be possible for me to gain a hearing with your hokage…" the man says his eyes then look out the window at the garden outside.

The boy smiles and then clasps the arm of the man, "I'm certain he'll be able to help, in fact my teacher will probably be able to handle any kind of trouble."

The words do not seem to reassure the man though, and the look upon his face almost makes it look as if he'd wish the boy hadn't spoken. The thin lips pull down and the eyes look back at the eggs. He shifts the subject of the conversation easily, "There are plates in the cabinet if you'd get one down. I'm not very hungry."

With the distraction of food, the boy springs to get the plate. The man watches the boy, and the sadness in the black eyes would have reminded the boy of the look his father gave the day he left. But when the boy turns around, the look is gone and the man has removed the egg pan from the stove and is holding it in air, waiting for the plate.

Happily, like a hungry animal, the boy vibrates in place as he holds out the plate. The man scoops the eggs onto the dish and then puts the bacon on as well. The man tells the boy where the silverware is located, on the third cabinet first drawer, and then the boy sits to eat. The boy barely chews as the delight of food overtakes him. He shovels the egg into his mouth.

The man stares at the boy at first then turns his attention to the pans. He closes his eyes before picking them up and moving them to the sink. He runs the water over them and steam comes up and billows over his face. He sets them down.

The boy pauses in taking a bite, wondering if somehow the man might have killed the woman. The man is a shinobi, therefor he might be lying. But then again, he boy looks at the man and takes a bite. He is staring out the window, at the flower bed beyond the glass. There is sadness in the action and the boy wonders how much the man cares for the woman. The man is worried, that much is for certain and it very probable that he is withholding his emotion for the sake of the boy. Adults always held back, the boy knew. The man looks at him, feeling the boy's eyes.

Yes, for some reason or another, the boy's gut tells him the man did not hurt her. There is more though; his instinct is nagging the hairs on the back of his neck to stand. Something is wrong. "Why was she taken? How? Is she going to be ok?" the words come quickly from his mouth and sound like garble through his roughly chewed food. So many questions and possible conclusions fill his mind.

"They came in the house after she had healed me but before her drug of chakra wore off. They want to use her as a medic to continue with the plan they started long ago. If she does what they ask they will have no reason to harm; but, I'm not sure if she will do as they say. They are… malevolent people and I fear for her safety," he answers quietly.

"Are you sure you know who took her, that she didn't leave on her own?" the boy asks.

The man's eyes flick to the side, as if the thought had occurred to him, but then his focus is back. "There is some trace of a fight in the bathroom and then I was approached by a member of the organization. I can't do anything until I know where they took her." The man turns and goes to the door way, "When you are finished getting ready we will leave."

It takes several minutes for the boy to finish and several minutes for him to freshen up. He looked closely at the mirror at both the cracks and at himself. When he emerged from the bathroom the man was already in the living room. A shinobi pouch rested on his waist and a backpack rested on his back. As the black eyes meet his brown, the boy can only shiver. There is something formidable about the man.

As soon as the two are out of village and in the forest, they take to the trees. The boy gives directions to an area designated as a return position, if the group were to ever get separated. The boy is nervous, his pace too quick to last long in his weakened state. The man can see that there is fear of being left behind. But the pace the boy sets will do no good, so the man feigns weakness, which is only partially true. The muscles he once had have become soft, but physically his illness is gone, making him feel so much better that he estimates it possible to push himself to the speed he'd once been at.

It takes two days to get within ten mile range of the vicinity. They stop for their last break. The boy against a tree and the man presses his back against another. The boy rests the bag and water bottle down and heads into the woods to relieve himself. When the boy returns he is surprised to see the man at his bag. The boy clears his throat and the man turns and nods, showing the water bottle in his hands. "I was out," the man says. The boy nods.

"We're almost there," boy says his hand scratching the back of his head. Worry is clear in the boy's actions. There is fear that no one will be there to greet him.

The man nods his head, eyes staring out in the woods.

"She'll be ok. My sensei will be able to take care of it," the boy says with confidence only a child can have.

The man looks again at the boy and a strained smile spreads across his face. "Thank you."

"You were the ones that saved me. I'm sure Kohona will be glad to help and have a new ally."

Again the man nods and turns his attention away from the boy. A frown overcomes his features. "The faster we leave, the sooner we'll get there," he says changing the subject. He hoisters his backpack upon his back and tosses the water bottle back to the boy.

The child smiles goofily and then the two of them take off once more. Their feet tap upon the trees in a constant rhythm and the miles go by them.

Suddenly the boy sees something. And with only a yelp of delight for warning someone below, the boy is on the ground, slamming himself upon someone the same height. "Tai!" A girl screeches and then another shape joins the hug.

"Get off of me," growls the form being covered by the other two.

Finally a fourth voice comes from the trees and the man slides his hand into his bag to pull forth a shuriken. "Now, now children."

"We thought you'd been hurt, killed, beaten, capture," the young girl cries.

Tai laughs at her, "Me? Please, I had it all taken care of."

"Really? If that was so, why did you wait till the last minute before showing up?" the voice from the tree says, hinted with anger that can only come from worry.

"Well," the boy's eyes go to the side, "I got some help, well a lot." The boy then turns to the tree he'd jumped from, knowing his traveling companion is probably still up there. The boy introduces the man by the name he'd been told. "His wife was taken by some shinobi, he needs our help. You can come down," the boy says, "my sensei will be able to think of something. You don't have to be scared."

The thin lips pull up in dry humor of the boy believing his hesitation had anything to do with fear. The man takes a calming breath.

A white haired man jumps into the clearing and looks up with one eye as if to put him at ease if he were truly scared of an undefined figure.

Itachi jumps to the closest branch so he can be seen.

"This-" the boy begins, but then stops at the look of his sensei's face.

The black eye is wide in disbelief, and then he quickly recovers. It takes him a moment to finally decide upon an action to take. He starts simply, "Uchiha?" he questions.

Itachi is before the white haired man within a second, without having shown any sign of moving. Two shuriken clash together and they eyes of opponents meet. "Hatake," Itachi greets.

The children gasp.

And then Itachi continues his attack.

* * *

/*

_Thank you for taking the time to read my work, I would be especially delighted if you would take an extra bit of time to leave a review even if you didn't enjoy the fic (although don't be too rough on that regard, but I'd be curious to know why if so). _

_I hope you enjoyed and a special thank you to those who have reviewed, I really appreciate it. Please have a good week and may God bless you all, _

_Z.z_

*/


	6. Ch 6: Chains

_Umm… surprisingly I don't believe any warnings, beyond what has been previously given, need to be spoken of. – enjoy._

* * *

**Chapter 6: Chains**

_She burns with fever. Her body shakes and trembles from the cooling sweat that drips from her body. She reaches out and grabs his hand, feeling warmth. She is cold. She is frozen. He squeezes her hand and she feels his strong and reassuring grip. Her body shudders without her consent and she can't seem to stop. She cannot remember ever, in her life, being so ill. _

_His fingers brush away her pink hair from her face and she can feel the callouses on his hand rub and smear the liquid on her cheek. A moment passes and she feels warm flesh press against her forehead, checking her temperature. She smells the strong stench of musk that she'd bought off a trader long ago for him. She takes a deep breath, even though the amount he has put on makes her dizzy head more nauseous it is the overwhelming scent of comfort, the only comfort she can afford and even it lacks the reassurance of security. He is not in a refuge, but he is the only thing she has. _

_He stays put for several minutes and she closes her eyes as his free hand scratches her head. The feeling of another person is calming; she is not alone-she is not going to die alone. She takes another breath, the sharp scent sends needle like pains through her throat and she coughs, deep and hard. He removes himself as she begins to hack phlegm. She believes he is gone for hours, truly only minutes, before his hand pushes her into a sitting position and he presses a cup that is filled with warm, light yellow liquid into her hand. The smell of chicken comes with the warm steam that hits her face. _

"_Drink," he insists with his quiet and gentle tone. _

_When she gains control of her chest compulsions, she sips. The heat fills her mouth and, although slides down her throat with some difficulty, makes her body stop shivering as her chest begins to feel warm. She takes another sip and eases away from the cup and against the hand at her back. "Thank you," her voice rasps and he takes the cup from her grasp. _

_He sits on the side of the bed and moves his hand so it is wrapped around her shoulders. She leans further into him and into his chest as he begins to scratch her head. She wants to be closer, to be completely surrounded by the person that seems to take away the pain of her sickness. She moves her head into a more comfortable position, where she can hear the thrum of each pump of his heart. There is the gentle flutter in her stomach and she pushes it aside as the sickness ravaging her body. Somewhere though, she knows the truth and that it isn't just the feeling of another human beside her that comforts her. She'd begun to feel a prickle of pleasure at his every touch and hearing his voice had begun to make her steps lighter and each day he worked beside her brought her joy. _

_The voices of her subconscious try to warn her, try to tell her she should be worried –that he is dangerous –that he can kill her in mere seconds –that he is a murderer –a traitor and he will always be one. It is hard for her to believe though, especially now. Every passing day he is becoming more of a gentle giant in her mind's eye. But the voices, the demons, will not let her forget that she can never tame the monster that is inside of him. _

_She tries to close her mind to their yells and the pull to remove herself from his vicinity. The cries, to run while she still can, continue to plague her mind and the voices continue to tell her to return to where she belonged. She replies that she doesn't belong there anymore and perhaps she never did. Her mind unifies over her rational and she sighs at the silence. She needs to ignore the division at least for today. Her mind is so stuffed, sic k and blurry that the warnings and instincts were driving her closer to the edge of insanity while causing a biting headache. _

_All while her mind has gone through its mental debate he has been combing his fingers through her hair. She looks up at him, at the light tanned features from being in the sunlight and the grey eyes that see nothing. All she wants is to be safe. For the moment, it is easy to believe she is. She is surrounded by his strong arms and his firm care over her well-being makes her more willing to fall into such an attitude about him. _

"_Drink some more," he quietly murmurs and she takes the cup from his grasp and sits up to take another sip. She hadn't realized she's begun to shake again from her sweaty chill._

_As the broth warms her from the inside, she wonders if he went to the neighbors to get it. She hadn't heard him leave, but she'd been on the realms of unconsciousness earlier. She returns him the cup and curls more into his chest, to soak up as much heat as she can._

_At her actions the voices speak once again. They tell her no, to not get so close. But in her fever, she ignores them. He does not know who he is so he cannot harm her, she reasons. It is not necessarily true though. There are many types of harm but the conscious part of her mind is not clear enough to think of them. _

_She closes her eyes and relaxes, trying to ease her quivering body. Her entire being –mind, soul, and organic tissues –feel like they are being beaten by bludgeons and on a spit being turned over a fire that leaves her both burning alive and freezing to death at the same time. _

_He pulls covers up to her neck and slowly moves away so she can lie down. He picks up some of the dishes by the bedside and is about to leave when she grabs his arm. _

_A part of her panics and her mind is beginning to blur thoughts of past and present. Inside, all the pieces that make her up are jumbled together and burn like the fever trying to kill the virus inside her. _

"_Don't leave me," the voice that comes out surely cannot be her own. "Please," she says, "don't leave." She doesn't understand it herself and she doesn't want to. For all purposes she should want him to go, to never return. If he left she would be able diagnose and treat herself. If he left she would not worry so much. But all the times she'd been left behind because she had been annoying, weak and emotional fester like an untreated wound that has been accumulating pus. She is scared, because at this moment she is all three of her disgraceful attributes. She doesn't want to be left anymore. She doesn't want to be alone anymore. She doesn't want to be scared of losing someone because she isn't stable or strong enough. She doesn't know it consciously, but she has given the man before her all the jumbled pieces of her broken nature. She doesn't know how reliant she has been on having him around and having the duty to care for him on a daily basis. She doesn't know what to do if he leaves, perhaps she will just waste away. But above all there is the human nature, the lonesome girl, in her head that just wants someone around because, how else can she prove she is alive at all? If no one else can witness her, what is to say she exists? _

_He leans down and presses his cheek to her forehead. "I will not leave you," he swears. He pulls away and kisses her forehead, lingering for a moment. "I'm just going to get you medication."_

_Somehow the words soothe her. A piece fits there, and another there and there. It is the allusion that there is a chance the image can be put back together, that in reality she is not a painting but a mosaic. She feels lighter and her eyelids droop close._

_Her fever, of course, had gotten worse and her mind was beginning to shut down and the man had left to get help. But the memory remained that she was not alone. The smell of musk stung through her stuffed nose. He would be back, she knew. He would not leave her. He would not let her die alone_.

Z.z

Cracked lips pull into a smile as the feint gist of a dream dips into the cognizant part of her mind. She can almost still smell the scent of the strong perfume that was him. Her lashes move and she opens her eyes already knowing what is there, nothing. The smile drops into a thin line. There is no need for her eyes to adjust, for there is nothing for her eyes to adjust to. The darkness swallows even the air and she cannot see anything, not her hair or the metal that cling tightly to her wrists. She takes an uneven breath. The sweet smell of comfort is gone and the musk she now smells is mold decaying whatever is down here with her.

She dips her head and tries to stretch. Her chains rattle at her movement and she shivers at the coldness as she touches the wall. The earth behind her sweats and she knows that she is underground and close to a river. She pulls tightly at the chains, one on her right hand and one on the other. The chains chink but are too strong for her to break. She closes her eyes feeling the continuous drain as the wrist manacles absorb whatever chakra is being made by her body.

She closes her eyes, trying to remember all that she can, going over her memories over and over again. She'd been so elated. She had saved him. It had worked. Then the urge to throw up had taken hold and she had found herself, and her tired beyond belief body, running for the restroom. She'd been a shaking mess like usual after clearing her stomach. And while she was washing her mouth something had slammed her against the mirror. At least that was her best guess. All she could remember was the sink going below her as she went forward and the pressure of a hand on the back of her head. Waking up here had been greater than unpleasant. The mulch, damp stench had made her dry heave. And as of yet, no one had come.

She stares out into the darkness, not seeing or hearing anything besides the trickling of water. She wonders if he'd been the one to do it; if he'd been a liar all along. Based on what she knows of his past, it isn't that easy to dismiss. She wants to believe that he hadn't done it, with all her might she wishes. But she knows nothing about the inner workings of a mass murderer and perhaps he'd led her to believe he was kind just so he would be healed.

She didn't understand; even when she asked he hadn't said he wanted his vision back. Perhaps he is psychotic, or has a personality disorder. She would have noticed though, wouldn't she? Twelve years was a long time to go without one episode. He'd acted so stable, so kind, so caring and gentle that it was hard to believe. Had he wanted to punish himself and when she healed him, gone berserk? She stops then. She knows there is no way he would have woken up so soon after her chakra enforced sleep. He wouldn't have awakened until morning.

She can think of no other reason, or person to have shoved her into the wall. The boy, she is certain, could not have done it. He had been chakra exhausted. But what if he realized? What if he'd seen them both as traitors and decided to take matters into his own hands? She remembers acutely the pressure around the back of her head. The person would have had to have been a head shorter than her at most, if not taller. The boy hadn't hit puberty. Whoever had attacked her had worn gloves too, and she knew her husband did not own a pair; he'd out right refused to have them even in winter. It wasn't like he could have found a hiding place as a blind man, right?

She cannot think of a logical explanation. Had someone in town been a shinobi? Had the boy's pursuers' bodies been discovered and the boy's enemies went to the village and found out who had aided him? But why hadn't they killed her? Did they think she knew something? Perhaps they'd seen her heal her husband and wanted a medic. It seemed likely, but she was concerned as to why she hadn't noticed them come into her house. She may have been focused on healing, but she would have noticed someone entering. On the entrances were bells she'd put up to keep track of a blind murderer. How high ranking were they?

What if they weren't the boy's pursuers, who else? Her mind goes to her husband again. Had he had someone watch for him? He'd been part of the group of missing-nin. He knew of the bells, but when would he have contacted them? Had he removed them?

She shuts her eyes; too many questions are driving her. She will not know anything until she has more information or until she has died down in this pit. She is running herself in circles and it is not helping. She is asking herself the wrong questions, there is only one that she needs to think about.

How is she going to get out?

She needs to plan. Whoever locked her up didn't have good intentions towards her. She has to get her and her baby out!

She calms down and she follows the chain on her right wrist to the wall. She feels a large metal hoop and square, it is most likely a spike driven into the rock and dirt wall. She doesn't know if it is possible to dig through, but she knows that it is not cement so there is a chance that she might be able to pull the spike out. She goes horizontal and finds another square and a chain leading to her left wrist. She is glad that her captors have left her feet and ankles unbound, for it means she has two less spikes to get out.

She pushes the large hook connecting to her right chain. It doesn't move, not that she expected it to. She is pregnant woman supposedly skinner than a virgin according to _him_. A small, grim smile pulls at her lips at his memory. For now, she will believe that he has had nothing to do with it. She will believe that he is the man that held her when she cried and kissed her at night, not because he hand anything to gain but, because he just wanted to. Her heart thuds and she grips the spike and tugs, pulls and wiggles trying to send enough vibrations so the rock will fracture enough to loosen its grip on the metal inside of it.

She is going to get out. She is going to go home. She and her husband are going to live happily ever after with their baby. She doesn't care if it is a childish wish or that the possibility of it happening doesn't exist. All she wants is the peaceful life she has had for twelve years and she wants that with him. It is what will give her the strength to be down here and the mindset to see her escape through. It has forced her focus to harden. She does not take into consideration what will happen if it all proves to be false. It does not cross her mind because her hand touches her stomach and feels the life within it.

The chains barely make a sound as she tugs, wiggles and tries with all of her might to move stone. She is tired and cold from the sweat of labor she has not done in some time. She barely takes breaks because when she does, doubts about the ability to get out cross her mind and her resolve wavers. When the thoughts begin she stands once again and begins to pull. She cannot afford for her mentality to be destroyed. It was lesson one taught when captured. Mindset means the only way to survival.

She has slept several times, awaking, she begins work again. She is tired and hungry after time has passed, but she has no idea of what time is in the dark. She is utterly alone besides the rare kick into her rib which leaves her breathless, but happy. Her child is still alive.

There is no light, not even the tiniest bit. There is only the sound of water coming from the wall. It is a constant reminder to work on both spikes equally, because if there is a river on the other side it is possible that she could drown if water filled the room before she could get the other out. She is thankful for the water though; she can drink when she is thirsty.

When her hunger finally begins to overtake her thoughts and she debates eating her clothes as some form of substance to support her child, she finally hears something. There is a creaking noise of unoiled hinges and grating as metal is pushed over stone. She turns around, away from her work, making sure not to make it obvious what she had been doing. At first she sees nothing, but light eventually shows a hole, an entrance way above her. The sound of sliding follows, as if a body is being dragged. She gives a shiver but focuses. Two stories, her mind calculates and she notes the need to find the staircase. Although the light isn't bright, even though it feels like it to her eyes, it illuminates the entrance way it is coming from and finally the staircase as it comes closer. The shadows flicker and move, foretelling of a lantern and it becomes brighter as it moves closer.

Finally, she can see the bars of her cage and what is around her. A small hole dug for bodily fluids is in one corner of her cell and in another is a chair made of feeble rotten wood. There are other cages, all empty, around her. Quickly, before the light bringer walks through the door way, she looks at the wall behind her. She can see the large hooks and her chains. They look like iron and are rusted. A glimmer of hope rises in her chest. Its structure is weak and her possibility of success is much greater than what she thought. Even though the wall may not give out, the metal itself might. She turns back around and examines her wrists. The shackles are made from a different material and the seal is definitely a chakra draining one. She will not likely be able to break out from them. She looks around her cell, wanting to know if there is anything she might possibly turn into a weapon, there is nothing. Her eyes go back to the bars. They are iron and rusted from the moisture as well, another good sign.

The sound of scuffling footsteps makes her focus once again on the passageway. The lantern barer emerges and she raises her hands to shield her eyes from the brightness.

"Thank goodness, Sakura," the low voice of a man says sounding relieved, "I was so worried."

She does not recognize the voice and slowly she moves her arm to look at the man. Light glints off of his glasses and she realizes exactly who he is or, perhaps a better statement would be, who he had once been.

"Kabuto?"

* * *

_I'm a jerk. Sorry… _

_Thank you for reading this and sorry for not continuing on with Itachi, because I know some of you wanted to know what happened. It's been my plan to do two chapters-He, two chapters-She. _

_I hope the dream at the beginning didn't throw you all off and I apologize if it did. If you read my work, you might realize I avoid flashbacks like vampires avoid garlic. For good reason – they take a ton of effort to pull off correctly (at least when I write I find the need to make them perfect.) _

_Excuse me for chit-chatting. Thank you everyone who has been following this story and a special sincere thank you to those who have reviewed, I really appreciate you taking time out of your lives to write me a message about how I did, or how you like the story. I don't mind gentle critiquing; it helps to know what is working and what isn't. It would be nice if you took the time to leave a review, but I know people get busy… _

_Thank you again for taking the time to read through this all (even my A/N), please have a good week everybody and may God bless, _

_Z.z _


End file.
